Old Fyodor Holds the Family Together
by Reading Trains the Mind
Summary: After her mother left, young Katyusha was left to care for her siblings and the only thing to comfort her was the family's rickety old piano. When troubled waters go their way, will they be able to make it out unscathed? Rated T for later chapters.


Yay! A story about The Braginski's AU childhood! I believe this is the first of its kind, I went looking for one and couldn't find one. That was where this was born!

Disclaimer- I only own the piano idea and the plot, sadly not Ukraine.

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I look up at the sound of fingers hitting keys. Is that Ivan playing? I tilt my head towards the music to hear the music more. Yes, that is him; he always holds the C# a little longer than Natty does.

I frown, why is it that he's playing Tchaikovsky right now? Just earlier he was playing Piano Sonata No. 11 in A Major; he was in a good mood. Better go check up on him.  
I sigh and stand up from my seat, stretching my arms slowly. I walk over to our living room, where our old Steinway piano was being played by, as I guessed, Ivan.  
"Ivan," I ask, walking towards him slowly, in case he goes off, "what's wrong? You were just playing a Mozart piece not even three hours ago."  
"Mother hasn't sent the money we need." he mutters, eyes barely leaving the wrinkled sheet music," Don't lie about it Kat, I saw the budget sheet you made."  
I exhale, silently kicking myself for not hiding it. Mother lives in another state, where the jobs are more plentiful and pay more. She sends money to me every month to pay the bills, shopping, and to put into our emergency bank account. She hasn't lived with us in over two years, a month after our father died and the economy hit us hard, hard enough for her to decide to abandon her dream of becoming a professional pianist and to take a shot of reality by leaving her three young children for three jobs that are all over five hundred miles away from our small town to help us accomplish our dreams.  
By this time of the month, we usually have our money. I guess she just sent it late this month, I'll find a pay phone tomorrow and call her.  
"Ivan, don't worry so much," I tell him soothingly, " she just sent the money late this month, I'm sure of it."  
Ivan sighed, distressed. "I just, I don't know. Especially right now with Natalya starting school next month-"  
"Hey, you are only nine years old. Let me worry about it while you play some Beethoven." I play a simple, one-handed piece of Moonlight Sonata to prove my point.  
He smiles softly, it looking slightly forced, " Okay Kat, only because you have it under control."  
I glance at my watch. "I'm going to start making dinner, okay? Ask Natty what she wants for dinner for me please."  
"But-! Fine, okay," he stands up, shoulders hunched as I start to make my way into the kitchen. I hear Natty squeal at the sight of her older brother. I smile; I always found my sister's love for our brother so precious.  
"She wants some draniki!" Ivan yells to me.  
"Okay!" I yell back, getting the vegetable oil out and the frying pan.  
Ivan returns to the kitchen with little Natty following him, one hand grasping his shirt. "She won't let go!" He says with urgency.  
Glancing back at the pan, making sure it's out of Natty's reach; I bend down to look the five-year-old in the eye. "Natty, let go of your brother."  
"No!" she yells in her high pitch voice, tightening her grip on his shirt.  
"Natty please, you're going to make me start crying." I pretend to wipe my eyes.  
"No!"  
"Natty-"  
"No!"  
I stand up, "Natalya Braginski! You let go of your brother's shirt or else вдарив тебе по голові так сильно, Америці доведеться вигнати нас за жорстоке поводження з дітьми. відпустив Івана прямо зараз!**" I take a breath, tears pricking my eyes, "Please, let go of his shirt."  
I turn away, feeling terrible that I would say something like that to my little sister. I hear scuttling of feet across the carpet and I feel someone tug my long skirt.  
"Thank you sister," Ivan says softly, motioning me to lean down. I lean down and he kisses my cheek softly and walks to the piano.  
I gaze at the silver haired boy make his way to the piano, with Natty peering at him behind our worn couch she took refuge in. He takes out a sheet of music from the box next to the piano and places his fingers on the keys.  
I close my eyes and visibly relax. Ah, the sweet Song Without Words No. 12 in F# Minor. I remember my job and I return to making draniki for dinner, glancing up at Ivan at random times as he plays. I smile, I wonder what we would do without old Fyodor comforting us with his sweet noise.

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Sorry for the shortness of the prologue, next chapter will be longer... hopefully. And piano music is reeeaaallyy pretty.

Translate: I'll hit you so hard that America will kick us out for child abuse. Let go of Ivan's shirt!


End file.
